


The Passive Agressive Bat

by completelyhopeless



Series: Two Circus Birds [15]
Category: DCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:03:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completelyhopeless/pseuds/completelyhopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's brother leaves for the police academy, and Clint wonders what Bruce will to do get him to leave now that Barney's gone. Needing to blow off steam, the boys head out on patrol, but with Swordsman and Zucco's gang waiting for them, things do not go well. Batman is forced to team up with Batgirl when Robin is put up for auction to the highest bidding criminal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Passive Bat

**Author's Note:**

> I need to stop being so mean to the boys.
> 
> I just also needed to explain how Clint ends up branching off on his own to get on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar. This section is it.
> 
> It was also getting very long and dark (I tried to break and write a shirt theft for lighthearted stuff, and it totally didn't work) so I'm going to break this one into... ugh... chapters and try and clear some headspace before for finishing the rest of this arc for the boys.
> 
> Oh, and I didn't specify the other hero on purpose because I don't really know the others well enough to write. That one came out a bit like Flash from the animated Justice League, but I don't know how accurate that is.

* * *

“Hey, what's with the face?” Barney demanded, looking down at Clint. He lifted his brother's chin, forcing his eyes up. “I'm not dead. You didn't even shoot me this time.”

“That's not funny,” Clint said, shaking his head at his brother. He didn't know how Barney could joke about that, because it wasn't funny. It made him sick to think of what he'd done, of the lies that had gotten him so angry that he almost killed his own brother. He would have left Barney there after he shot him, and that was _not_ okay.

Barney reached over to ruffle Clint's hair. “Relax. This is a good opportunity for me. They have academies all over the country, but this one is the best, and thanks to your... friend, I don't even have to pay for it. It's good. It's all good.”

Except Barney didn't even see how passive aggressive this little ploy of Bruce's was. Hell, he probably didn't even know what that meant. Clint only did because Dick studied a whole lot more than was assigned to them at school, including books on psychology and all kinds of things that Clint figured a kid his age shouldn't read, but Dick was _Robin._ He had to know that kind of crap, or so Batman claimed.

Bruce was sending Clint's brother to a school halfway across the country on purpose. He didn't want Barney here, never had, and he was using the police academy as an excuse to get rid of him. Clint didn't know why Bruce hadn't tried to find a way sooner, not when Barney hated his obvious favorite, but Bruce had been patient, and it paid off. No one had any idea that Bruce was getting exactly what he wanted in sending Barney off to school.

Clint wondered what Batman had in mind for him, how Bruce would get rid of him after Barney was gone. Dick was the only one he really wanted around.

“I'm gonna miss you,” Barney said, and Clint nodded right before his brother pulled him into a hug and kept him there longer than he should have.

* * *

“You sure you're okay?”

“Quit asking me that.”

“Sure,” Dick said, folding his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes for good measure. “As soon as you stop needing me to ask. Which, you know, will be never because you're not okay and we always get in trouble.”

“We don't always get in trouble,” Clint began, and Dick just looked at him. His friend managed to smile, but it was halfhearted at best. “Okay, so we do. It's nothing. I'm fine. Leave it alone.”

“Come on. In spite of everything, you and Barney were close, right? You overcame lies and you shooting him and him always picking fights with me and managed to stay brothers. You miss him, don't say you don't.”

Clint grunted. “I'm fine. It's nothing. It's not like Barney's dead. He's just out of town, and that's a whole lot better for him considering that he sort of cheated on Babs.”

“Don't remind me. He still needs an ass-kicking.”

“Yeah, because Bruce is so going to let that happen. He got rid of Barney and he won't let Babs near us, so she'll never have her revenge. Not that I want her hurting my brother, but it was kind of low and almost makes me think he _did_ do it just because she's your friend.”

“Our friend,” Dick corrected, adding in a few signed words after he spoke. Sometimes Clint just didn't get it. He wasn't just around because Dick wanted him there, and Babs chose her friends. Her being friends with Clint—and she was friends with Clint—had nothing to do with her being friends with Dick. If she didn't like who Clint was, she wouldn't give him the time of day, even if Dick considered Clint a brother.

Clint nodded. He reached for his bow. “Is Robin still grounded?”

Dick snorted. “Yeah, like Batman could ever ground Robin. The kid can fly. Let's go.”

* * *

“You could have just said that Batman was off doing Justice League stuff again,” Clint muttered as he lined up another arrow. “Not pretended you were some great badass without a fear of Batman.”

Dick laughed over the comms, happily flipping over one thug's head and back behind another. He rolled to the side, kicking another man's legs out from under him, and stood with a bit of a flourish before darting between another two thugs. Clint almost couldn't keep track of him.

Almost. Another arrow hit its target, and Dick looked up to salute him, making Clint roll his eyes. His friend took a lot of stupid risks, and if he didn't have someone with a bow backing him up, he'd be dead by now.

Clint didn't like thinking about that. Dick was a good fighter, had been when they were kids, even, but Batman had trained him and made him better. Robin could hold his own against the kinds of creeps cops feared. He was a hero. He'd proved it, no matter what Batman said. That week that Bruce still wouldn't tell them about, that should have been enough, but it wasn't for Bruce. Clint got the feeling that nothing would be.

“Twelve down. Why is there always thirty more to go?” Dick asked, shaking his head at the end of the fight. “I see six of your arrows plus everything I did. I just hate knowing that there are still more of them out there. What is it with this gang? Why won't they just... give up?”

“Why won't they die?” Clint countered, pulling out another arrow. “We know why.”

“You're not actually thinking we should kill them, are you?”

Clint frowned. He didn't really _want_ to kill, but he had to admit, it would make parts of this easier. “I just kind of wish that they'd stay down for once.”

“Yeah,” Dick admitted. “Me, too.”

Clint was going to call him on that when he heard something behind him. He moved his bow but was a second too late. Something hit his head, and he could only hope he didn't fall off the roof before he lost consciousness.

* * *

“Alright,” Dick said, stepping back from the last of the thugs. “I think that's enough for the night. Time to head home.”

Clint didn't answer, and Dick frowned, looking up at the rooftop, trying to decide what that silence meant. He didn't know that Clint enjoyed patrolling the city the same way he did, and sometimes he felt bad for dragging the other boy along. They had fun, but this thing was kind of _Dick's_ life, not Clint's. Dick was Robin. Batman only called Clint Hawkeye because they had to use codenames in the field. Dick checked his sensors. No, just him and these jerks and Clint up on the rooftop.

So why did Dick feel like something was wrong?

“Hawkeye—” Dick broke off when something hit the ground behind him, and he was relieved to see it was just a grenade and not his friend until the gas hit him and he started choking. He reached into his belt. He couldn't see, but he could breathe again with his other mask on.

“I learned a thing or two from our last encounter,” Swordsman said, and Dick swallowed, staring into the smoke as it cleared, seeking out the monster from his nightmares again. Was that one of Scarecrow's gases? Because Swordsman wasn't here. He wouldn't be. Couldn't be. Dick would have seen him, would have heard him, would not be caught in that man's hold. “I took care of your friend the archer first.”

Clint. Dick shook his head, unwilling to believe that Swordsman had hurt him. He wouldn't give into the fear. He couldn't. Batman wouldn't, so Dick wouldn't. He struggled in Swordsman's grip and reached for another set of batarangs. “You're lying.”

Only Clint didn't say anything through the comms and it might not have been a lie at all.

“Trapping you was so easy, little bird,” Swordsman said, and Dick wanted to kick himself for getting into this position, but he knew Swordsman was _wrong._ He hadn't walked into an easy trap. He'd done what he had to, taken down thugs that were hurting innocent people, and Clint was there. No one had been after that. Something had tricked Batman's sensors, and they weren't easy to fool. “First the archer, then the bomb you expected, and now the knife you thought would come last time.”

Something stabbed into his back and he really wished he hadn't gotten so many detailed lessons in anatomy from Batman long before his biology class because he knew _exactly_ how bad that wound was.

* * *

“Miss Gordon? What are you doing here at this time of night?”

“Alfred, where are they?” Barbara asked as she pushed past him into the house. She would never have done that before, not to Alfred, not to a friend of her father's, not to Batman, but she did not have a choice. “Tell me they're here, please. Tell me Dick and Clint are here and not out being Robin and Hawkeye.”

“Miss Barbara—”

“No, not now, Alfred,” she said, going to the wall and leaning against it for support. Her heart was beating a mile a minute, hadn't stopped since she'd overheard her father's conversation. She hadn't stopped moving since, either. She'd had no choice. “Clint and Dick are gone, aren't they?”

“I am afraid they are not here,” Alfred agreed. “What is it that concerns you?”

“They found part of Zucco's gang.”

“That was likely the boys, yes,” Alfred said with a slight sigh. “I cannot say I blame them for their vendetta against the men working with the man that killed Master Richard's parents, but even so, I cannot think that it is wise for them to—”

“They were dead,” Barbara said, swallowing. “Shot with arrows. All of them.”

“No,” Alfred said, immediately shaking his head. “I do not believe Master Clinton would do such a thing, not even if Richard's life were at stake. He is not that sort of boy. That sort of _man,_ I should say, since he is growing up quite rapidly. No. It was not him. He would not do that. Richard would not allow him to do that.”

“I think he's being framed, and he's in trouble,” Barbara said. She let out a breath. “Where are the boys? Where is Batman?”

“Master Bruce is, unfortunately, with the Justice League again. They have been calling upon him more and more lately, and while he seemed angry about this, he did reluctantly agree that the boys had handled the city on their own in the past.”

Barbara wasn't going to say anything about that, not to Alfred. He didn't deserve her anger. She was still mad at Bruce for taking off the way he had, for not being there when her father needed him, for telling her she had no business being “Batgirl,” and because he seemed incapable of acknowledging how much work Clint and Dick had put into the city never knowing that Batman was gone.

“We have to find the boys. It would be better if Batman was here, but if we can get them on the comms, we can get them to lie low until we can clear Clint's name, at least.”

“Yes,” Alfred agreed. “Let us begin.”

* * *

Clint dragged his eyes open with a curse and looked around. He couldn't move—didn't want to with the way his head was pounding—and then he recognized something that almost made him sick on the spot. The silence.

He couldn't hear. He couldn't hear anything. He started yanking on his bonds, swearing words he still couldn't hear as he realized he was bound by something metal. Chains. He couldn't work that loose. He was trapped. No bow. No way of getting out of this.

Something hit his leg, and Clint looked over to see the boot belonged to Dick.

“That's it. Calm down. You have to watch my face, read my lips,” Dick said. “I can't sign like this. I'm sorry.”

Clint nodded, seeing his friend's hands were bound over his head. He hated it, because signing was better when everything was silent, but Dick was in no shape to have a conversation with his hands. Clint swore they had him bound tighter than he was, and Dick was paler than usual. “What happened? I thought we were clear, then there was something behind me and I got hit in the head.”

“We were clear. Sensors agreed. Then Swordsman was there. Smoke bomb, he got me while I was putting on my mask.”

If the sensors had said they were clear, too, Clint didn't feel as bad for missing the one that had come up behind him. Not much, but a little.

He saw a foot in front of him and looked up into a face he'd never wanted to see again unless it was in a bow sight. Swordsman smiled down at him. “Look at this. Two little birdies. Tell me, Barton. Did you miss me?”

 _No,_ Clint thought, but he didn't say anything. He just glared at his former mentor.

Swordsman reached forward and shoved the mask off Clint's face before grabbing hold of his neck. He squeezed it hard as he leaned in, bad breath making Clint want to gag, but on the bright side, he didn't need his ears to understand what Swordsman was saying. “It'll be good to finish what I started. You don't know how much trouble you caused me, but I promise you, you will.”

Dick must have shouted at him or something, because Swordsman turned away, and Clint couldn't tell what he was saying until he looked back at Clint and laughed. “Funny thing is, you're getting off easy compared to him. Grayson over there is going to regret not dying with his parents because the kind of freaks that are interested in him... Well, he'll wish I was the one that killed him, that's all I can say.”

“What did you do?”

“I figured I needed a bit of getaway money, and Robin's identity is useless to me—I'm sick of fighting the Bat—but it's worth thousands if not millions to the others. Penguin, Two Face, Killer Croc, the Riddler, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Mr. Freeze, and my personal favorite—the Joker.” Swordsman smiled, looking back at Dick. “And not all of them care if you're alive when they find out who you are.”

Dick swallowed, and Clint kicked at Swordsman. If that bastard gave Dick into _any_ of those sickos' hands, he was a dead man. Clint would make sure of that. He'd make sure Swordsman was good and dead this time. He just needed his bow. 

Swordsman backhanded him. His head hit the pillar he was chained to, and he didn't know that he'd get a chance to get his bow, but if he survived this, he _would_ kill him.

* * *

“I am afraid it does not look good at all,” Alfred said, and Barbara looked up at him, still trying to make sense of the Batcomputer. She was pretty good with most systems, but Bruce's supercomputer was something else. “Master Clinton's communicator is installed directly in his hearing aids. He should not be unreachable.”

Barbara nodded. She'd figured that much herself. She pointed to the bottom of the screen. “What is this? It looks like chatter, like it's running a search for terrorism or something.”

“In a sense, yes. It is designed to monitor communications in Gotham and keep Batman apprised of any potential threats.”

She swallowed. “Is it rumor or more than that? Because if I'm reading this right, someone is auctioning Robin off to the highest bidder.”

The outward calm of the butler was shaken for a moment, but then he restored it with the simple words, “We must contact Master Bruce.”

* * *

“Come on, Batman. Head in the game. No booty calls.”

Bruce shot the other man a dark look and checked his communicator anyway. Alfred. The warning bells in his head were going off even stronger than before. Something was wrong in Gotham. He'd been sure of it ever since he reached the Watchtower. 

“Again? I swear you jump ship every chance you get.”

“Last time I was gone, Robin took down a gang, exposed police corruption, and created a new superhero.”

“So? It just proves the kid can handle whatever's thrown at him. You've trained him well. He'll be leading the Junior Justice League next thing you know.”

Bruce turned his back, ignoring the other “hero” as he addressed his communicator. “What is it?”

“I am afraid we are facing multiple threats,” Alfred began. “Some more urgent than others. Several of the members of the Zucco gang were found dead, shot with arrows.”

“Hawkeye have an explanation for that?”

“While I have been unable to question the lad on the matter, I do not believe it was of his doing.”

“Where is he?”

“I do not know. Nor can I say where Robin is, though it would seem if we pay a million dollars, we will know not only his identity but also have him for whatever purpose we might like,” Alfred's voice carried his distaste, and Bruce could imagine only too well the kind of threats that had been made against the kid.

“One million?”

“Rising as we speak, sir," Alfred confirmed, "but the deadline is short. Robin will be in the top bidder's hands within the next two hours.”

“I'm on my way.”

“Hold up, Batman. You're here for a reason, too, you know.”

“This is a waiting game,” Batman said, shaking his head. “When you really need me, I'll be here, but I'm needed somewhere else _now.”_

* * *

“What do we know? I need everything, now.”

“It looks like it was a trap set by the Zucco gang. I think they were even willing to murder their own people to make it look like Clint did it, so even if he gets free, the cops will want him, but as bad as that is, I'm thinking Dick is in more trouble at the moment—he's only a few minutes away from being turned over to the worst scum Gotham has ever created,” Barbara said, and the cowl glared at her. She shook her head and continued, “I've tried to get access to the auction, thinking we could divert your assets to recovering Dick, but they're running it invitation only, and every time I get close, I get kicked out of the system.”

“You shouldn't be here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Bruce? I'm a cop's daughter. I know the risks. I did fine when you were gone, and that time it was physical. This is just hacking, and I can do that in my sleep. Dick and Clint are _my_ friends, and you wouldn't even know they were in trouble if not for me.”

“It is true,” Alfred said. “I had no reason to suspect the boys were even going to be late arriving home. They had not reported any signs of distress, and I knew of no problem until Miss Gordon arrived.”

Batman turned back to her. She figured he expected her to flinch under his look, but she wouldn't. She wasn't scared of Bruce. “I heard them say that Zucco's men had been killed with arrows. I came here to find Clint and work to prove he didn't do it before a police manhunt got started. We tried to get the boys on the comms and couldn't, and that's when I saw your computer had flagged the rumors about Robin being up for auction.”

Bruce moved to the computer. “You checked the trackers on the boys' suits?”

“Yes, sir, as soon as the comms failed to raise them. They are not functioning. I know where they last were, and that does point to Zucco's involvement—perhaps even to Swordsman's, but Zucco has many hideouts across the city, as you well know.”

Bruce nodded. “We need a way to narrow them down. Put in some anonymous tips about the other locations. We're going to start there, that warehouse.”

“We?”

“You're with me, Batgirl.”

Funny, not that long ago, that would have made Barbara happy. Right now, all it did was worry her more. If Batman thought he needed her, he was more worried about Dick and Clint than he would ever admit.

* * *

“Clint. Oh, hell, Clint.”

He frowned, reaching out weakly, trying to understand why he thought maybe he could hear when he knew the last time he'd been conscious, he couldn't. His hearing aids were broken, and he was trapped in silence again, and he hated it, but he would live. He'd done it before.

“Babs?”

Strange to see her in a Batman—Batgirl—costume and say that, and he knew somewhere in the back of his head that he shouldn't, should protect her identity, but he wasn't sure what was going on or if anything was real because Babs was Batgirl and he was in a lot of pain.

“It's me,” she said, taking his hand. “I'm here. You're a mess, though, Clint.”

“Swordsman,” he managed to say. “The guy... likes... his swords...”

She nodded. “We're gonna get you help. Just stay still. I don't want you losing any more blood than you already have.”

“Dick?”

She swallowed, and Clint knew she was considering lying to him, but she didn't. “The auction was done before we found you. We're going to have to find whoever won and get him back from them.”

Clint groaned. The pain was bad, but the idea of Dick in those creeps' hands, them getting their revenge on Batman through him—what Swordsman had done to him was nothing compared to what they'd do to Dick.

“Gonna kill him,” Clint said, trying to get up, not caring about the pain. “Him _and_ Batman.”


	2. The Aggressive Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint starts his own recovery. Bruce and Barbara search for Dick. After he's found, Dick tries to cope with what happened while he was a hostage. Everyone's overprotective, Dick wants them to stop, and Clint wants something to shoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was not easy or pleasant trying to write scenes where Batman was out of control aggressive, and I ended up trying to imply that more than anything because it was something I was not comfortable writing.
> 
> Nor was going into detail on what happened to Dick while he was taken, so I left that to one flashback.
> 
> And this should cover what led Clint to go in his own direction, as hard as that was to do.

* * *

“How are you doing?”

Clint couldn't move because his body was a mess of bandages and stitches, and Dick should be making a comment about it, something stupid like Clint was half-zombie now or that he'd start falling apart and needed to learn to sew so he didn't die.

Only Dick wasn't there, couldn't say anything, and the longer that went on, the more Clint could believe—again—that Dick was dead. He didn't want that, couldn't accept it. Not again. He'd lost Dick once and it had screwed with his head so bad he'd been down a path that made him kill.

He was going to be on that path again, even if Dick was alive, because _someone_ was going to stop Swordsman, and it was clear now that it wasn't Batman.

“Clint,” Babs said, taking his hand again, her eyes soft and gentle and full of so much concern that he wanted to run from it because he understood what Dick did in the beginning. He wasn't just an idiot for thinking Babs cared—he was scared to death of the way she cared.

“How's the search going?”

“He hasn't eaten or slept in days, and he comes so close to killing everyone he goes up against that I am honestly scared of what will happen if we don't get Dick back soon,” Babs admitted. She chewed on her lip for a second. “I should just have been able to hack that auction. If I could have, we'd have paid for Dick and gotten him back before anyone could touch him. He'd be fine.”

“Not really. Swordsman took him _again._ For all that Batman is supposed to be law and order in this city, he lets the _one_ person he cares about—well, he cares about Alfred, too—he lets that one person other than Alfred suffer while his parents' killer goes free. Three times Dick has been up against Swordsman, and only _once_ did it go even kind of well, and that's because you and I were there. I shot Swordsman and he left, but not before he blew Dick up. Swordsman claimed he was going to finish me off, but he seems to hate Dick more than he does me. He _sold_ him. You should have seen his face, Babs. I think he was actually _hoping_ the Joker would win.”

Barbara gagged. “He's actually the one I'm the most scared has Dick, and I think Bruce is, too. He keeps trying to hunt him down and has hurt so many of his men and Zucco's...”

“Hell hath no fury like a Bat?”

She managed a strangled laugh. “Yeah, that.”

Clint frowned. “Is he... He's really that bad? I didn't think he was capable of that, even if it was Dick that was in trouble.”

She nodded. “I'm starting to think—no, I think I'm already there—I don't think Bruce can do this without Dick, without his Robin. I think Dick's the only thing keeping him from falling off that edge he's so close to, from crossing that line.”

“That is so messed up considering that half the time he acts like he doesn't know what to do with Dick,” Clint muttered. He shook his head. “I don't know. Maybe you're right. He does seem to care about Robin. I've always known it was Dick he wanted around, not me.”

She sighed. “I wish I could say it wasn't true, but I've always got the sense that Bruce didn't want anyone but Dick around, either, going back to before we knew you were alive and before I started wondering if Dick might be Robin. He did not like it when I came over to work on our schoolwork together. He has a real thing about personal space.”

“I've lived in his house for a while now. I know. He's always let me feel like an intruder. I know I'm only here because of Dick, and he packed Barney off as fast as he could.”

“You're not going anywhere,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “And we are getting Dick back.”

* * *

“I haven't seen much of you lately.”

Barbara swallowed down her last bite and tried not to choke on it. That was true. She hadn't been home much, had been at school even less, and her father wasn't stupid. She'd known he'd pick up on it eventually. She just hadn't wanted to jump right into a “Dad I'm Batgirl” discussion tonight. She'd been hoping to avoid that for a lot longer.

She needed this to last until they got Dick home again, at least. Bruce needed someone with him, and Clint shouldn't be out of bed yet.

“I'm sorry, Dad. I've been worried about Dick and Clint and...”

“And spending all your time over at Bruce's house.”

She nodded. “If they were in the hospital, I'd be there instead, but you know the boys.”

“Can't say I blame them for not wanting to stay in the hospital, not when Bruce can get them private care instead,” her father agreed. “We never did find that nurse that lied about Clint's injuries and convinced them he was dead. I can see why Bruce would prefer keeping them at home if he could. And he can.”

She nodded. That was the only reason people hadn't gone looking too closely into Dick's absence and Clint's injuries. The cover story of them getting in a car accident was a stroke of brilliance on Alfred's part. Her father didn't suspect a thing, even with Bruce gone all the time and the word of Robin's abduction being all over the streets.

“Things have been a bit slow around the office,” her father went on, “I shouldn't say that, but in the last week we've had plenty of the Zucco gang turn up dead, the Penguin, Scarecrow, Killer Croc, and even the Joker put back in Arkham. At this rate, I'll be out of a job soon.”

She laughed, but she had to shake her head. Batman was almost out of control, and Bruce was not the only law in this town. He couldn't be.

_“Where is Robin?” Batman demanded, holding the Joker over the edge by a foot. “Tell me. Now.”_

_“Oh, Batsy,” Joker laughed. “Batsy, Batsy, Bats, don't you think that if I had your little bird I'd tell you? That I wouldn't scream it from the rooftops with resounding laughter and applause? Believe me when I tell you I'd make sure you saw every bit of what I'd do to the Boy Blunder. I should have won that auction. The things I'd do to your precious birdy...”_

_Barbara stepped forward, putting her hand on Bruce's arm. “Batman, he doesn't have Robin. We need to move on.”_

_“No. He has him. He needs... He needs to die,” Batman said, and Barbara swore he was about to let the Joker fall. Maybe she should have let him, but she didn't. She threw a line over Joker's foot and brought him back over the edge of the roof._

_“He doesn't have Robin. Let him go.”_

Her father lifted her plate out from in front of her. “I suppose you want to get back to the boys now. I shouldn't try and keep you.”

She forced a smile. “It's not that I don't want to stay with you, Dad.”

_I'm just afraid Batman will kill someone if I'm not there and we don't find Dick soon._

* * *

“How are the new hearing aids?”

“Perfect, Lucius. Even better than the last ones,” Clint said, being honest about it. He did have to hold back a bunch of other crap, none of it having anything to do with the other man. He was angry about still being in bed, about the pain he was in, and about Dick still being gone. He forced a smile. “You didn't have to make a new set. The other ones were working again.”

“Clint,” Lucius said, his tone making Clint blink and tense. “I did.”

Dick would be smacking him about now. He always said Clint mattered more to the people in his life than Clint realized, that it wasn't just because they liked Dick that they tolerated Clint. Some of them—Alfred, Babs, even Lucius—actually cared about Clint as a person.

“I have something else for you, too,” Lucius said, his smile nice and warm. Clint liked that about the man. He was a good person. “I didn't know much about these things at first, even with what I've made for Bruce, but I'm hoping you're going to like this a lot.”

Clint frowned, but then Lucius opened up his case and took out something small. He shook it, and the piece unfolded into a bow. “Wow.”

“That impressed already?” Lucius teased. “Collapsing the frame is really the easiest part. I think you'll really enjoy what I've got for you in specialized arrows.”

“What, like Green Arrow's arrows?”

“Kid, you're good enough not to miss what you aim for, and you've never caused more damage than you meant to, so you never needed anything fancier than the grappling hook—couldn't leave you stranded on a rooftop while Robin and Batman flew off of it—but now I've got a lot more for you. You'll have to tell me where to fill in the blanks, though, because I'm not sure what all you'd want or need.”

“Does one of them explode?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think we're good,” Clint said, and Lucius laughed.

* * *

“Two-Face,” Batman growled, grabbing his former friend and hoisting him in the air. He would never have hurt Harvey before, always trying to find a way to get back the friend he'd known, but right now, he would gladly snap the man's neck. “Where is Robin?”

Two-Face laughed. “Flip a coin and find out.”

“I'm not in the mood for jokes,” Batman said, tightening his grip. “Tell me where Robin is now, and you live. If not, no coin is gonna save you.”

“Maybe not. It saved the boy. So far.”

Batman roared, throwing the man to the side. Two-Face hit the pillar, almost knocking it over. Debris and plaster fell on both sides of his face, and Batman glared at him, daring him to move. He wanted Two-Face to rise, wanted to repay him for everything he might have done to Robin while the boy was in his hands. “Batgirl, find him. Now.”

“I'm looking,” she said. He could hear her grunting through the comms as she fought with other thugs, and Batman considered helping her, but no one of them were worth his time. He'd spent too long chasing dead ends, tracking every other villain in Gotham down when the one he wanted was right here. He must have been blinded by his old friendship with Harvey, must have believed that somehow the good in Harvey would protect Dick, especially since Harvey used to like the kid. Two-Face didn't know he was Robin, but that shouldn't have made a difference.

“I should kill you. Anything you did to that boy—”

“Boy. Man. Two sides of the same coin. You can't treat him like one and then expect him not to be punished like one.”

“What did you do to him, Dent?”

“The coin decides all.”

Bruce grabbed Two-Face again, ready to break something when Batgirl's voice came through the comms. “Batman, I've got him.”

“And?”

“He's alive.”

Which meant that Two-Face lived. For now.

* * *

“Leave me alone.”

“Dick—”

“I'm fine. Leave me alone,” Dick said, pulling the blankets up over himself, backing against the headboard. He was sore, and he shouldn't move, but he didn't want to be fussed over. He just wanted to be alone. He didn't want questions, and he didn't want reminders. He was fine. He would be fine again. He just needed them to stop asking and stop fussing and leave him alone.

“You are _not_ fine,” Babs insisted. “I _found_ you, remember? I know you're not okay. I saw what he did to you.”

“You saw me bloodied and bruised, and it scared you, I get it,” Dick said, swallowing. “I don't—it's not what you think. It was _Two-Face._ He spent most of his time flipping his coin, unable to decide what to do with me. It's not that bad. It would have been a lot worse if it was Joker, though I swear if I never hear a coin flip again in my life it will be too soon.”

She frowned. “I don't—”

“Babs, please. I just want to be alone. It's not that I'm not grateful. You found me. I owe you. Just... Please, go?”

“We need to talk,” Bruce said from the doorway, and Dick groaned, turning over into his pillow. He did not want to do this. Not now, not ever. He didn't want to talk about what Two-Face had done to him. Ever.

“I don't think you need details of his whole whack-a-Robin routine,” Dick said, shaking his head. “It wouldn't even add anything to your psychological profile of him. Can't I just sleep? I want to sleep. I want to be left alone so I can sleep.”

“I can shoot them if you think it will help,” Clint offered, and everyone looked over to see him in the window. He took an arrow out of his quiver and lined it up. “Lucius gave me special arrows. I've been waiting to try them out.”

“You should be in bed, too.”

“I'll go when you do,” Clint told Bruce, his smile thin.

Dick almost laughed. “We haven't done the whole slumber party thing since we were, what, ten?”

“Well, there were those times you crashed at my crappy apartment before I came to stay here,” Clint said. “Do those count?”

“Yes,” Babs said, smiling at them. She leaned over and kissed Dick on the forehead. He stared at her, and she kept grinning, giving his hand a squeeze. “Rest up, Dick. And you, too, Clint. You both need to heal.”

She passed Bruce, who stood in the doorway for a bit longer, glowering. “We do need to talk, Robin.”

“Later,” Dick said, and Clint gave him a look. They both knew that meant _never._

* * *

_“What do you say, kid? Heads you keep the mask, tails you lose it,” Two-Face said, holding the coin in front of Dick's face. He flipped it, and Dick watched it come down with a lump in his throat. He didn't want to lose the mask, not in front of Harvey Dent. Dick had known Harvey before he became Two-Face. The guy would know who he was the minute the mask was gone. “Heads. Guess we do this with the mask.”_

_“Ah, well, you know, you don't want to see me without it,” Dick said. “I'm not that pretty.”_

_Two-Face glared at him. “Heads I break your face. Tails I break your hand.”_

_“I really don't like your games.”_

_Two-Face grinned, flipping the coin. Dick braced himself, but that didn't stop him from crying out when Two-Face's foot stepped on his hand, crushing it under his heel._

* * *

“Dick, wake up,” Clint said, shaking his friend awake. “Come on. Wake up. That's it, you dick. Come on back to reality.”

“Reality sucks,” Dick muttered, looking like he might puke. He leaned his head back down on the pillow and groaned. “Everything hurts.”

“Yeah.”

Dick opened his eyes. “You okay? I didn't even ask. I haven't... Everyone's been in my face and worried about me, and no one even told me—I saw some of what Swordsman did to you, but I think that I passed out first.”

Clint shook his head. He didn't want to talk about that any more than Dick wanted to talk about his nightmares or what Two-Face had done to him. He hadn't talked about Swordsman before, and Dick should know that. “I'm fine. You're fine. Everything's good, right?”

Dick shuddered, gripping his pillow for a moment. “Yeah, it is.”

“Dick—”

“This isn't me. I don't do this. It's like Two-Face gave me some of Scarecrow's fear toxin when he started because it's not—I've been through worse. He wasn't even that bad. He wasn't. He had to ask his coin what to do, so he didn't _do_ that much,” Dick insisted, curling up on himself. “Maybe I'm reacting to my medication. I feel sick.”

Clint sighed. He didn't know enough to help his friend. He preferred things he could fight, things he could shoot. “Sucks, but you can try and go without the meds for a bit and see if that helps.”

“What would help is if you spoke about what he did to you,” Bruce said from the doorway, and Dick tensed. Clint glared at him. “Dick, Harvey used to know you. He had you for days. Does he know who you are?”

“What difference does that make?” Clint asked. “Swordsman knows who _both_ of us are, and all you did to him was send him to jail where he could tell _everyone._ If it mattered that much that Dick's identity was compromised, why didn't you do what _matters?”_

“We are not killers,” Bruce said. “Swordsman will be prosecuted in accord with the law. I have already taken steps to discredit any claims that he might make. I am not asking you to hurt you, Robin. I just need to be prepared for what Two-Face might do.”

“He needs his damn coin to do anything,” Dick said. “And I'm _fine._ You have the report the doctors gave you. You don't need me to go through all of it, Bruce. I am not a case file. Just leave me alone.”

“Dick,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “You need to deal with what happened, not avoid it.”

“That is so rich coming from you,” Clint muttered. “Just leave him alone, Batman. He doesn't want to talk, so you just have to deal. When Dick wants to talk, he will. For now, leave him alone.”

“I am trying to help.”

“You suck at it.”

Bruce glared at him. Clint glared back. He almost reached for his bow, but Dick shook his head. “This whole overprotective thing _has_ to stop. From all of you. Even you, Clint. I don't want more fighting because of me, and I don't want to be treated like I'm broken, and I just want to be... I don't know what I want, but it isn't this.”

“I could put an arrow through his eye. Through both his eyes. One for each face. That would help, wouldn't it?”

Dick laughed, deciding it was a joke. Bruce glowered before leaving the room.

* * *

“I don't believe this.”

Dick looked up from his schoolwork, welcoming a reason to break. He hated make up work more than anything else, but at least this time Alfred wasn't threatening to bring back Coulson. The guy was a lousy tutor. Dick hoped he was a better agent. It wasn't that he disliked the man, but he did not like learning from him.

“Is Coulson back? Because I don't want Coulson as a tutor.”

Clint looked at him. “That is really what you're worried about? Why isn't the first thing you come up with Two-Face getting out?”

“Because everything in my life is not about what Two-Face did to me and I would really like it if you would stop thinking it was,” Dick said, shaking his head. “I told you it could have been worse. It wasn't the Joker.”

Clint shook his head, angry again. Dick didn't think he'd stopped being angry since Swordsman's attack. “You're an idiot.”

Dick sighed and tried to work on his math again. He would do a lot better if he could make himself as ambidextrous with writing as he was with fighting.

“Swordsman is out of jail.”

Dick stopped. “What?”

“They let him out. Again.”

“On bail, maybe, but he'll stand trial and—”

“No. It is time this ends once and for all. He had his chance at a trial, and he didn't take it, so I'll make sure he gets what's coming to him this time.”

Dick gagged, forcing himself up from the chair. “Don't do this, Clint. Please. Don't. You don't have to, and it's not right and don't. Just don't. They won't stop hunting you. Batman won't stop hunting you. And it's wrong. It's not you. You're not a killer. Don't—”

“I am,” Clint disagreed. “I have been for a long time. You just didn't want to see it.”


End file.
